


A Fun Time in Nazi Germany

by FizztheGreat



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - World War II, F/M, Humor, Idiots in Love, M/M, Manipulation, Misunderstandings, Multi, Nazis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-12
Updated: 2020-09-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:46:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26424346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FizztheGreat/pseuds/FizztheGreat
Summary: “Does he… have a family?” Asked Sansa, “or a lover, I mean, fiancé-”“Thought he was queer for the longest time,” Brune said. “Until he met you.”Sansa goes to Nazi Germany to spy on Petyr Baelish but gets tangled in something greater.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Sansa Stark, Petyr Baelish/Lothor Brune, Petyr Baelish/Sansa Stark
Comments: 22
Kudos: 18





	A Fun Time in Nazi Germany

**Author's Note:**

> For those who don't know, Brune is Baelish's bodyguard in the books. He is described to be:
> 
> "Sober, he was a quiet man, but a strong one. And Petyr says he's loyal. He trusts him as much as he trusts anyone."  
> \- Sansa Stark

Sansa Stark didn’t start out as a spy. She was the eldest daughter of the honorable Eddard Stark, one of the best generals Britain had seen for a while. His tactics were true and reputable; promises he made to the enemy were kept. Despite that, he wins almost every battle and his soldiers were willing to follow him into any fight. That, until he was brutally outnumbered in a fight against the Nazis in the summer of 1941. German intelligence managed to track down his whereabouts while he was patrolling the Eastern Front with a skeleton crew. The Nazis killed his soldiers and brought him to their camp to be slaughtered in front of media and German officers. The commander of the army who’ve taken Eddard, Jamie Lannister, bragged about it for two weeks. The wolf of the pack was dead. Britain was losing the war.

Fingers were pointed to who gave Eddard Stark away, a man with few enemies. Some doubted her mother, of Austrian descent before married to her father. Some say it was Eddard’s own fault for being too candor with his military tactics. He fights too honorably, and while honor can win men, it cannot win the war. 

Sansa didn’t really care who it was. She just wanted revenge. She wanted to see the Lannister’s troops fall like flies. Eight months after her father’s death, she joined British Intelligence. Her 19th birthday had barely passed but Britain needed men. Most of all, they needed a distraction. 

There was a chink in the Lannister general’s army. Petyr Baelish grew up with her mother in Austria before he was sent away for causing a disturbance in the family. Her mother hadn’t heard from him for years until one day he mysteriously appeared as a well-known weapons supplier for the Lannister troops.

Catelyn Stark was furious when she found out British Intelligence was going to use her eldest daughter to get through Petyr Baelish. She cursed the entire department that day before being dragged out by guards. 

“I will not let my daughter be treated like a common whore!” She had shouted with such emotion that even her superior flinched at the insult. Sansa watched all this impassively from the second floor, where she had just been debriefed of her mission. 

“If he ever touches you, I’ll send my platoon over and kill him myself,” Jon said to her the day he was going to depart to Russia. Sansa told him, despite orders not to, but she knew Jon will keep it a secret. He and her father were like mirror images, both stupidly honorable and loyal. If not for the color of hair—Starks have always been known for having fair hair—nobody would assume Jon was adopted. 

“What if he recognizes me?” Sansa asked, holding onto Jon’s lapels as if that would change the course of tomorrow. 

“He won’t,” said Jon reassuringly. “It’s been two decades. He probably won’t even recognize mother if he sees her. And if he recognizes you,” he cupped her face in his hands. “Convince him that you love him. He will fall for it, mother says he will, and when he does,” Sansa felt something cold pushed in her hands, “you know what to do.” Jon let go and Sansa looked down to see a thin sheathed knife in her hands. She looked up, unable to hide her shock. Jon smiled but its different; he seemed sad.

“I don’t want you to get your hands dirty,” he said, searching her face. “But I don’t want you dead either, you understand?”

Sansa swallowed and nodded wordlessly.

She and Arya were deployed eight days after another, with Sansa first. Her cover was an orphaned Austrian girl from the war looking for secretariat work. And what a coincidence, Herr Petyr Baelish was in need of a secretary after his previous one died of natural causes. A red head, like Sansa, named Ross. 

—

“Hello,” Sansa smiled and smoothed down her skirt. “I’m here to apply for the open secretary spot.”

The middle-aged lady at the desk pulled down her reading glasses. “Quite young, aren’t you,” she said. She made a face. “I would advise you to stay away from this position.”

Sansa pressed on. “Ma’am, please, I need this job.”

“Do you know what happened to the previous secretary who worked for Herr Baelish?”

“My condolences, I heard she died of natural causes.”

“She was 27.” The woman shuffled some papers noisily. “But you do you. With such a pretty face, it will be a shame to see you go away, my last warning for you,” she said pointedly. “Herr Baelish is free next week Wednesday afternoon 2 PM. Arrive here ready and dressed at one thirty.” She handed Sansa a thin file. “Fill out your information. Did you bring your resume? Good, put it in this folder with the rest of the papers.” 

—

Sansa arrived half an hour early and decided to sit in the lobby waiting. The middle-aged woman merely shrugged when she saw her, as if she expected young people like her to disregard warnings.

Sansa sat there for the next twenty minutes, listening to the woman click away on her typewriter and watching passersby: a few uniformed officers, but mostly women, carrying papers, cups, blueprints, maps. 

“It’s one fifty,” the middle-aged woman said. “Go down this hall, make a right, go to the end. There should be a tall man waiting at the doors; he’ll let you in.”

Sansa nodded. “Thank you,” she said with a slight smile. She’s nervous, she had to admit. It was her first mission after all and the closer she reached her destination, the worry grew in her stomach. She slowed down when she made the turn, steadying herself. Baelish was her mother’s childhood friend right? How bad could it be?

 _Bad enough for her mother to run in British Intelligence’s department screaming and kicking_ , her thoughts wandered and Sansa cursed herself for starting to overthink things. She was so wrapped up in her thoughts she barely registered she had reached the end of the hallway.

“Herr Baelish has some last minute things to attend to, he’ll meet you shortly.” The man standing outside the set of doors said to her. He’s very tall, Sansa noted, with some sort of a squashed nose, square jaw, and graying hair. He’s not handsome, but he’s not ugly either. There’s a certain air of honesty surrounding him. His gray eyes swept across Sansa and she instinctively reached for her left wrist which had a hidden blade strapped to it.

“Nervous?” The man asked.

“A bit,” Sansa flashed him a brief smile, hoping it would fit her fake persona. “Are you his bodyguard?” 

The man looked down at her. “I wouldn’t ask too many questions,” he said. “Some men here won’t appreciate it.”

“Like Herr Baelish?” Sansa wasn’t sure why she pushed on. Maybe it was the man’s calm deposition, or purely her nerves. The bodyguard’s answer surprised her.

“Only if you ask about his height,” he deadpanned. As if on cue, a voice from the inside called.

—

“Brune, you could let the girl in.”

Brune: Sansa stored that name into her memory. The bodyguard pushed open the door to reveal a lavishly decorated office, so unlike her father’s office which only contained the essentials. Expensive tapestry and rifles models decorated the walls, along with what seems to be a gold-plated Luger on the dark mahogany desk. A thin man dressed in a pressed suit sat behind it, diamond eyes following her. _He didn’t look as awful as her mother made it seem to be_ , she thought. Some might even think he’s handsome. 

“You must be Alayne Stone,” Baelish smiled at her but offered no hand. “You’re here for the secretary position, aren’t you?”

Sansa bowed her head, “Yes, Herr Baelish.”

“It says on your file that you’re from Austria.”

“Yes,”  
“What happened to your parents?”

“They… passed away,” Sansa didn’t really need to lie for this. It was half-true, after all. “My father as a soldier from the war. My mother as a nurse. The building she worked at collapsed one night without warning. There were few survivors.”

Sansa expected Baelish to express his sympathies, even if insincere, but he just watched her from his seat. 

“Are you fluent with the typewriter?” He asked.

“Yes, I have worked with it before.” 

“Good,” Baelish handed her a couple of pages. “I want you to translate these documents into print for four copies then have them delivered to this address by afternoon.”

Sansa nodded. Baelish was already back focused on whatever papers he had on his desk. So this was it? 

“See me when you’re done,” Baelish said. He looked up and smiled but it didn’t reach his eyes. 

Sansa got the job later on, but she found herself rubbing her wrist every once in a while, feeling to make sure the hidden knife was still there.

—

Sansa worked hard for the next two weeks and was sometimes able to get the documents sent early at noon. She walked to Baelish’s office with newfound confidence to find the bodyguard absent from his place at the door. She contemplated knocking on the door only to hear two voices that seemed to be in a vehement argument as she got closer. 

“She shouldn’t have confided with Varys!” 

“You could’ve pardoned her.”

“And I did.”

“By sending her to Joffrey!”

“Oh, so it’s my fault Joffrey accidentally shot her in the stomach while he was testing out his guns?” 

“You knew exactly what Joffrey is.” 

“That doesn’t make it my fault.”

Sansa was just about to press her ear against the door only for the door to open. She gasped lightly. 

“Miss Stone,” Brune said impassively as he exited. “Finished already?”

“Yes,” Sansa said, head spinning, surprised to find that it was bodyguard in Baelish’s office. 

Brune held open the door. “He’s inside,” he said. 

—

Sansa entered to find Baelish leaning against his desk face in his hand.  
“Miss Stone,” he raised his head. “I’m sorry you just heard that argument. My bodyguard doesn’t know his place.”

“It’s alright Herr Baelish.”

“You got all those papers typed by noon?” 

“Yes, Herr Baelish,”

Sansa half-expected Baelish to compliment her but he just hummed. “You are as efficient as my previous secretary,” he said. 

“Thank you,” she replied. She guessed that could count as a compliment. “May I ask, what happened to your previous secretary?” 

“Nothing you need to worry about,” he said that empty smile. “A mere accident.”

Sansa nodded. Baelish pushed himself from his desk and strode to her. Sansa glanced at the hand he had put on her shoulder. 

“You will be better than she ever was,” he said. 

Sansa shuddered from the cold press of the blade against her forearm.

—

“Tea, Miss Stone?” Baelish asked her one day after she had worked all night, copying and sorting documents to be mailed. It was the most difficult day she’s experienced in the past month working under him. She slept that morning with numbers swarming in her head: ‘seven thousand artillery shells,’ ‘two thousand machine guns,’ ‘five thousand cases of ammunition…’

“I’m fine, Herr Baelish,” Sansa said, still weary from the nights’ efforts. 

“You look like you need some.”

Sansa was taken back by Baelish’s behavior. From what she’s gathered from Baelish’s other employees, he’s an insouciant employer. Sansa reluctantly gave in and took the cup. She was going to take a sip when she realized Baelish had no cup of his own.

“Relax, Miss Stone, the tea is safe to drink.”

Baelish watched as she took a tentative sip. “It’s good, Herr Baelish,” Sansa nodded. 

The corner of Baelish’s mouth quirked. “The tea is from India,” he said. “It was an expensive investment.” 

“Oh, Herr Baelish, you shouldn’t.”

“A woman of your beauty deserves better,” he said and he’s close to her again just like last time. This time, his hand caught a lock of her brown hair and twirled in around his finger. 

“You remind me of a woman I’ve met before,” he said and Sansa’s blood ran cold. “She had a different color of hair, but her eyes are similar to yours. She was intelligent and ingenuous like you: a formidable woman.” 

He dropped his hand. “Take a day off, Miss Stone,” he said. 

Sansa left the room with a pounding heart. Perhaps she doesn’t need to make Petyr Baelish fall in love with her. He already has.

—

It had been five weeks since Sansa began working under Baelish. She had tried to map out the times Baelish wasn’t in his office but when he wasn’t, his bodyguard stood by the door like a statue. 

Sansa only got her meager information from the documents Baelish gave her to sign or copy or distribute. She relayed the supplies and locations to British Intelligence but it was nothing significant enough to change the course of the war. 

She was packing her personal effects after a long day of copying numbers when the lady at the front desk stopped her. 

“Herr Baelish would like tell you that you’re accompanying him to Major Joffrey Lannister’s wedding two weeks from today,” she said, as she set the phone down. “He would like you to come to his office next Friday to pick up something.”

Sansa nearly dropped the bottle she had in hand in shock. Is it customary to invite one’s secretary to occasions like this? She assumed Baelish had a lover of some sort but that doesn’t seem to be the case. And why her? There were several female employees that have worked longer under Baelish than her. 

On the contrary, after a month’s efforts, she’s finally getting closer to Baelish and the Lannisters, which means more information. It’s just a wedding, Sansa convinced herself. What could go wrong?

Sansa stilled her turmoil of thoughts to look up at the woman and smile. “Thank you for letting me know,” she said.

—

Sansa entered Baelish’s office next Friday to see it empty.

“He’s off to run some errands,” came a voice from behind. Sansa whipped around to see Brune, smoking a cigarette, half-veiled in the shadows. He pushed himself away from the wall and walked over to one of the leather seats and sat down. Sansa stood there dumbly for a second before Brune stamped out his cigarette to told her to come sit down.

Sansa took a seat in the opposite chair and folded her hands over her lap. After a period of silence, she decided to speak up. “Herr Baelish told me to meet him at his office this afternoon.”

“Oh?” Brune said, sounding uninterested. “Do you know what it is?”  
“He didn’t specify. He just said we were invited by the Lannister general to his nephew’s wedding.”

“Hmm, a wedding in the middle of war?” Brune took another cigarette from his pocket and lit it. “And he invited you? Interesting. How do you like working under Baelish?”

“It’s okay,”

“Does he trouble you?”

“No, not at all.”

“Hmm, if he does, let me know.”

“Oh,” Sansa was taken back at this. She wasn’t sure how to respond to that. “Thank you,” she settled on. 

“No worries,” Brune said. 

They both fell silent.

“I’ve been meaning to ask this: what did you mean by asking about Herr Baelish’s height the first day we met?”

Brune cracked a smile, as if there was some inside joke she was unaware about. “Ah, you still remember,” he mused. “He has the Napoleon Complex: gets extremely touchy about his height.” Brune explained in all seriousness. “Don’t be deceived by his demeanor. He’ll act like he doesn’t care but then plot to kill you from afar. Really not fun to hang around him-” Brune trailed off when he saw the door opening and Baelish stalking towards them. “Speak of the devil,” he muttered. 

“Herr Baelish,” Sansa nodded in respect.

“What’s up shorty,” Brune said from his reclined place. Sansa covered her mouth in surprise. A muscle jumped in Baelish’s jaw. 

“I’m to take Miss Stone to the Joffrey’s wedding next Sunday,” Baelish said coldly, his eyes sweeping across the other man.“You better sober up before then and make sure the car is up and running.” Baelish eyed Sansa and let his hand linger on her arm for a moment. “I have a gift for you,” he said. He nodded towards his desk and Sansa saw a parcel she didn’t notice before. 

Sansa could feel Brune's gaze boring into her. When she turned to look at him, his face was turned the other way. 

“I need to check if the car is ready,” Brune said and then he’s gone, leaving Sansa alone with Baelish in his study. 

—

The gift turned out to be a sky-blue dress, expensive to the touch. Gold laces were stitched in the silk fabric, giving the dress an elegant and simple look.

“It’s beautiful, Herr Baelish.”

“Call me Petyr. At least for the wedding ceremony,” he said from behind. _Petyr_ , Sansa thought, tasting the name on her tongue. 

“I would buy a dress with precious jewels stitched in it, but money is scarce during war times,” Baelish, no, Petyr, continued. “Try it on,” he paused for a split-second. “I’ll be waiting outside,” He smiled and for a second, it felt genuine. 

Sansa waited until she heard the door close before letting her muscles relax. Despite the gold not being real, Sansa could still tell this was a very expensive dress. She blushed at the thought of Petyr marching through stores looking at dresses with Brune. God, she thought as she hugged the smooth, cold silk to her face, trying to calm her heart. She might be falling for Petyr. 

—

The day of the wedding came around. The ballroom was decorated with Lannister riches, the buffet tables filled with an assortment of foods Sansa hadn’t seen since the war. It turned her stomach seeing those nobles picking and choosing and tossing away food they didn’t like, while families starved just streets from where they are. Apparently the girl’s family that Joffrey Lannister is marrying into controls a large part of Germany’s farmlands.

“May I have a dance?” Petyr held out his hand. They had just finished dinner and music was beginning to play. Sansa took it, trying to ignore the rising heat from her neck and face. 

Petyr danced like a gentleman, his arm wrapped firmly around Sansa’s thin waist. There were a few moments in the dance where their faces nearly touched, and if Sansa just leaned a bit closer, she could kiss him. However, she waited; she waited for Petyr to make the move, she wanted Petyr to make the move. Yet the dance was almost over and Petyr only teased her more and more. 

“Shouldn’t I deserve a kiss, after all this dancing?” Sansa pouted. 

Petyr only smiled. “You do keep track, don’t you?” He said. “Later, my lady, when no one is watching.”

—

There was no later. Joffrey, the Lannister general’s nephew, got on stage excitedly talking about the Nazi regime and how he was going to rule part of it with his wife one day. Sansa had hated the boy as soon as he opened his mouth; his whole persona made Sansa’s stomach churn. She was quite determined to punch the boy in the face when he started to brag about how his Uncle Jaime outwitted the honorable Eddard Stark. He was there when Eddard was executed, and described the death in such frightening detail one may say he was sadistic. However, Sansa’s thoughts were torn away from her father when Joffrey started choking. She didn’t catch what happened before—perhaps he took a drink from his wine glass too quickly—but suddenly the boy was grasping at his throat, face turning purple, tongue protruding just like how he described Eddard Stark a few minutes ago.

The commotion at the dinner place arises—Cersei was the first to respond. She clamored on the stage and held her son in her arms, making an awful sound. Jaime and Tyrion were the second and third to rise, both standing a safe distance from the lioness. Petyr was the fourth to rise and he pulled Sansa up roughly and led her to the car before Joffrey drew his last breath. 

—

“You need to go,” Petyr suddenly spoke up from his seat in the front. “I’ve arranged a boat to pick you up tomorrow night. It’ll go to the edge of the German and Soviet Union border. You’ll have to cross the river and keep going East until you reach a small town called Esso.”

“What?”

“The Lannisters will kill you,” Petyr continued. “They have every reason to pin Joffrey’s death on you. I doubt your backstory could hold for long; it will be days before they find out you’re a British spy.”

Sansa’s heart stopped. He knew. Petyr knew, all this time, yet he decided to play along. How did he find out? Sansa was extremely careful, she was sure of it. 

“Why are you helping me?” She asked warily. If Petyr wanted to kill her, he would’ve done so earlier. 

“Because Germany is going to lose the war.” Petyr said. He hadn’t looked at her since they got in the car. “Why lengthen the death? Make it quick and we can start anew. Germany needs new leaders.”

Realization suddenly hit her. “You killed Joffrey.” She said. “That’s why you brought me to the wedding with you: to frame me.”

“Yes, and now I’m helping you escape,” said Petyr. 

“You used me.”

“We are all players of the game, Sansa. We must make sacrifices or nothing will advance.”

“So you’re going to destroy your own country for a chance to become one of its next leaders?”

“As I said, sacrifices.”

“You’re just a selfish bastard!” Sansa accused. “You don’t care about anyone, do you? I doubt you even loved me at one point.” 

“Sansa-” Petyr warned. And then the wind shield in front shattered. 

—

“Get out, get out!” 

Sansa barely regained consciousness before being dragged out the car by Brune. She fell on the ground, cutting her knees on the shards of glass from the car windows. She saw Petyr also out the car, huddled close to the side. 

“Come on, hold on to my hand,” Brune pulled her up. “To the buildings.”

Sansa ducked as an explosion goes off from where their car had just been. Brune shadowed himself protectively over Sansa and Petyr. They reached the buildings and entered a narrow, stinking alleyway. 

“Here,” Brune tried a small wooden door on the side. It was locked. He stepped back then rammed his body against the door a few times until it gave away. Someone gasped from within the darkness. 

“Find her!” A voice shouted from the streets.

Brune had his hands out. “We’re not here to hurt you,” he said. Seeing no signs of resistance from the woman, albeit the glinting knife she held, he ushered Sansa and Petyr in then closed the door behind them. 

It took Sansa’s eyes some while adjust to the darkness. The woman must have dimmed the lights when she heard the commotion from the streets. They appeared to be standing in the woman’s kitchen.

“Pl-please, don’t hurt us,” the woman stammered from her place in the doorway.

“How many of you are there?” Brune asked.

“Just me and my two daughters,” she replied, and Sansa felt a pang of guilt as the woman suddenly reminded her of her mother.

“We’re not going to hurt you,” Sansa joined in. “We just need a place to stay,” seeing the woman’s hesitation, she added, “please.”

What felt like ages, the woman slowly began to lower her knife. In the silence and distant shouts from the streets, Sansa was painfully aware of Petyr’s labored breathing. She turned to see his face stark white in the darkness.

“Petyr?” She asked and touched his shoulder gently. He jolted away as if stung. 

“Hey,” Brune quickly stepped in. “Let me take a look at this.”

Sansa looked down at her hands to see them stained red. A sick feeling grew in her stomach.

“He’s hurt,” she said.

“Sit down,” Brune commanded. 

“I’m fine,” was Petyr’s strained response. 

“Sit,”

Petyr relented and slid down the wall, uninjured shoulder pressed against it. 

“I need light,” Brune said. Getting no response from the woman, he raised his voice, sending her scurrying away, knife forgotten. 

“Hold his shoulder,” Brune said. Sansa did as he commanded. He began to undo Petyr’s jacket then shirt and pulled the clothing down to reveal the wound. Petyr gasped aloud. 

Sansa couldn’t tell what she was looking at first: what seems to be a shard of glass was embedded in Petyr’s shoulder, black and stained with blood. 

“Just get me a doctor,” Petyr gritted. The woman came in with a large white candle and Brune took it without much of a glance and lit it with his lighter. 

“The bleeding is not stopping,” he said as he brought the flame closer to the wound. “Do you have bandages, a needle and thread, and alcohol?” He asked the woman.

She nodded wordlessly. 

“Good, bring me these items now. Sansa, keep him awake. Make sure he doesn’t bleed out.” Sansa took the candle from Brune as he got up with the woman. Petyr was completely still in his position leaning on the wall with his good shoulder. A thin sheen of sweat had gathered on his forehead and his eyes were fluttering closed.

“Petyr, stay awake, you’re going to be alright,” Sansa tried to reassure and put her hand of his back. Her world had just gone from terrible to absolutely disastrous in the matter of one night.

“Where’s Lothor?” Petyr asked.

 _Who?_ Sansa thought. “I don’t know who you’re talking about,” Sansa said.

“Did he leave?” He sounded distressed.

“I don’t know who you’re talking about,” she repeated.

“Pity,” Petyr sighed. “I know it’s his job but I worry about him. He has too much heart. It will endanger him one day.”

Sansa found that a strange thing for Petyr to say.

“Stay,” he told her. 

“I’m not going anywhere,” she said.

Petyr sighed. “Good.”

—

Brune came back with a clamp moments later and Petyr passed out from the pain shortly after Brune yanked out the glass shard with him screaming underneath. Petyr drifted in and out of consciousness after that, mumbling a few incoherent words as Brune stitched him together before finally falling into a troubled sleep. The mother brought some blankets—perhaps pitying them—then went to her children hiding in their rooms, leaving Sansa, Brune, and an unconscious Petyr in the kitchen. 

Brune gave his blanket to Petyr after he started shivering and lightly joked how Petyr would fire him if Brune let him catch a cold.

“How did you get to work under him?” Sansa asked Brune after a long period of silence. 

“I was in the army,” Brune said. “Fought in World War 1. Afterwards, I worked as a freelancer, providing protection to important people at a high price. Stumbled upon him one night getting beaten up by a few of his colleagues. Stepped in to help and he offered me a long term job. The pay was good, so I gave up my freelance job and decided to work under him.” Brune took a long draw of his cigarette. “I learned later that he blackmailed them. All of them! There were five people surrounding him that night. That was almost ten years ago.”

“Does he… have a family?” Asked Sansa, “or a lover, I mean, fiancé-”

“Thought he was queer for the longest time,” Brune said. “Until he met you.”

Sansa felt herself redden and she looked down in hopes that the shadows may shield her face. Perhaps Petyr did love her in his convoluted sort of way. _God, she’s blushing about a man fifteen years her senior_ , she thought. A _German_ officer, fifteen years her senior. Her brothers and Arya would kill her. Jon wouldn’t stop making fun of her for the rest of her life.

“I have called a car to pick us up at daybreak,” Brune continued. “Now get some sleep, we have a long day ahead of us.”

—

Sansa took a shower when she got to Petyr’s residence to wash off the dust and blood from the night before. Petyr’s maid tended to his wound while Brune fell asleep on the sofa in the living room, not bothering to change. Sometime later, Brune spied a line of black cars entering the driveway and Sansa was promptly shoved into a hidden room in the walls while Brune grabbed a new suit to change into. The knocking came right after the hidden door clicked shut. 

“Herr Baelish,” Sansa pressed her ear to the door. It was Cersei Lannister from the wedding last night. The dead boy’s mother. “I hope I don’t find you at an inconvenient time?”

“No worries, I am an early waker,” Petyr said. Sansa could hear the false smile in his voice.

“I heard you ran into some trouble on the road?”

“Yes, a car rammed into ours on the way back from the wedding. The driver must have drunk too much.”

“Yes, of course,” Cersei dismissed. “Were you aware of what happened last night, Herr Baelish?”

“No, I went to bed as soon as I got home. I was rather tired due to the events on the road, you would understand.”

“Well,” Cersei paused. “My son… was murdered that night.”

“My condolences.”

“Isn’t that funny?” Cersei continued, her voice raising to a shrill. “That you left, moments before my son died?”

“A mere coincidence, I’m sure.”

“Yes,” Cersei scoffed. “Just a coincidence.”

“I’m terribly sorry about your son,” Petyr said with an edge to his voice. “But may I inquire your need of me?”

Sansa heard movement and the shuffling of papers. 

“The German forces are losing their hold on the Eastern Front,” she said. “I need you to deliver a new shipment of artillery by next week. Here are the numbers and locations. I want you to personally oversee the delivery to the Front. You will meet General Tywin Lannister at Novgorod to ensure the arrival.”

“Noted,” more shuffling of papers.

“Oh, and I was wondering, where did your beautiful secretary go after last night? She seemed to have disappeared right before Joffrey’s death as well.”

“I was unaware of that,” Petyr said. “I left that night alone with my bodyguard.”  
“Strange,” she said. “I checked her flat and she was not there. May I?”

There was a period of silence and then a dozen footsteps were clamoring on the wooden floor. Sansa shrank from the wall. She heard furniture being moved around, rustling of books, papers, and documents flying, and the audible click of flashlights as they rummaged around Petyr’s house. A few times the footsteps got near her place but the hidden door never opened.

It felt like half an hour until Sansa heard Petyr’s tight-lipped “Done?” and the footsteps leave the house. A couple of minutes later, the door opened. 

“Are you okay?” Brune offered a hand to pull her out. Sansa spied Petyr leaning on the wall, holding his injured shoulder gingerly.

“Why didn’t you accuse her on the spot?” Sansa directed this at him. “You knew perfectly she sent men to kill you last night!”

“Oh, I don’t know that,” Petyr said steely. “I don’t have evidence, and no evidence means the incident did not happen. No matter, Cersei does not have evidence that I’m colluding with you. We are in a standstill, but it looks like Cersei has made her move. A risky one, so time is of essence here.”

Sansa shook her head. “What?”

“You still have much to learn,” Petyr said. “Cersei revealed to me a military secret: the German is losing hold of the Eastern Front. If the British advance before the armaments arrive, she will know I’m conspiring with the enemy and I would be dead. Tywin Lannister would personally kill me and blame it on a stray bullet.”

“People won’t believe him.”

“War zones are messy, Miss Stark, and no one will doubt the words of a general.” Petyr replied. “This leaves us with one alternative: the British must storm the Front on the day of the shipment. Cersei can’t pin the blame on me because that day, the whole regiment would know. Anyone could’ve divulged the information. However, the time period between when the shipments arrive and are properly prepared is small, and we can’t start the attack early because German forces will be suspicious.”

“I’ll notify British Intelligence,” Sansa said.

“No,” Petyr stopped her. “We can’t trust them to follow our orders. You will notify the British troops on the day of.”

“They won’t trust me!”“Well, you better hope they do,” Petyr said. “That’s the only chance they get if they want to change the course of the war.”

—

Sansa locked herself away in the guest room that night, head whirling from what had only seemed to escalate in the past twenty-four hours. First, Petyr murdered Joffrey, then Cersei tried to kill both Petyr and Sansa, and now Sansa has to figure a way to convince British troops on the Eastern Front to charge into enemy defenses with no evidence they should trust her. Brune and Petyr weren’t fairing too well either.  
  
“And what if Tywin Lannister shoots you before you get to leave?” Sansa could hear Brune through the wall. 

“Tywin Lannister is not insane like his daughter. He will not do things that bear no reason. If I deliver the shipments as commanded-”

“Yes, but you are also the second person, Cersei believes, connected to the death of her son, which I remind you, is Tywin Lannister’s grandson.”

“The Lannister general despises the boy.”

“That doesn’t take you less out of danger.”

 _Always bickering_ , Sansa thought as she laid her head down trying to get some sleep.

“Of course, I do hope you will do your job properly that day, if it comes we are caught in the crossfire. I’ve been wanting to demote you for ages.” 

“Petyr,” Brune growled. 

_Petyr?_

—

Petyr invited her to dinner the night before the ‘big day’. The dinner was bountiful, despite scarce resources from wartime. Candles were lit along with the honeyed ham, potatoes, and sausages. Sansa waited for Petyr’s apology, or at least an explanation for everything that has happened, but dinner was eaten in silence with only the clink of cutlery to entertain the ears. 

Sansa couldn’t stand it anymore. 

“Do you love me?” She asked. “Or do you just see me as a pawn? An echo of my mother?”

“Sansa,” Petyr set down his fork. He cupped her face, studying her. “You are more beautiful and intelligent than your mother will ever be,” he said. And then he took her face in his hands and kissed her, gentle but sure. Sansa relaxed and leaned in to deepen the kiss when Petyr suddenly pulled away.

“You should be getting to bed,” Petyr stood up from his seat. “We have much to do tomorrow.”

Before Sansa could register what had just happened, Petyr had already left the dining room. 

—

Sansa couldn’t sleep that night. Her head was filled with a disarray of emotions and questions: Why did Petyr leave dinner early? Perhaps he was tired but no matter how much Sansa tried to convince herself, she knew that wasn’t the case. She got up after an hour of twisting and turning and decided to go downstairs for some fresh air. She was surprised to find the lights in the living room on and walked in to see Brune smoking on the sofa he happened to occupy as if it’s his own.

“Couldn’t sleep?” Brune said to her as she entered. 

“No.”

Brune reached in his pocket and took out a packet of cigarette. He offered her one but Sansa shook her head. Brune quietly stowed the cigarettes back in his pocket. The room fell into an uncomfortable silence.

“Are you and Herr Baelish close?” Sansa couldn’t help letting her jealousy out. “I heard you calling him Petyr a few days ago.”

“I would say we are partners of a sort,” Brune admitted. “We trust each other.”

Brune could tell Sansa wasn’t satisfied with his answer but he didn’t divulge more. “What’s your connection with him?” He asked. “Herr Baelish recognized you the day you walked in his office.”

 _So she was compromised the moment she started_ , Sansa thought and cursed everyone who assumed Petyr wouldn’t recognize her. “My mother was childhood friends with him. They grew up together in St. Gilen,” there’s no point for Sansa to hide anymore. 

“So that’s why he’s so fond of you,” Brune said and Sansa swore she heard a tinge of envy. Then it all clicked together: why Brune avoided her when she’s with Petyr, why Petyr left early at dinner. Of course, how was she so blind. She just needed to make one more connection.

“Who’s Lothor?” She asked. “Petyr was asking for that person when you were gone.”

Brune gave a half-smile. “I’m afraid I haven’t properly introduced myself yet,” he said. “I’m Lothor. Lother Brune.”

“Oh,” Sansa wasn’t sure to feel dejected or angry. She just felt empty, as if she was stuck in an alternate universe she wasn’t meant to be in, a character who stumbled into another person’s story. This whole operation felt like a lie. Sansa was suddenly overwhelmed with the longing for home, for her mother, brothers, Ayra, and mostly Jon. God, she missed Jon.

“So it was all a lie then,” Sansa got up, ready to pack her effects and leave this whole operation.

“He needs you on his side,” Lothor stood up. “He may love you, he may not, but that doesn’t take away the fact that you’re a valuable asset to him.”

 _A valuable asset_ , Sansa thought as she stormed up the stairs. _Nothing but an asset._

“What are you here for?” Lothor stopped her.

“My country,” Sansa said slowly.

“No,” Lothor said, following her up the stairs. “You’re here for revenge, aren’t you? There’s only so many Starks in the world. You’re here to bring down the Lannisters for what they did to your father.”

“Get back.”

“If you leave now, you’re throwing away an opportunity that may never arise again.”

Sansa closed her eyes, hating how Lothor was right.

“Petyr serves no one but himself,” Sansa said softly.

Lothor held out his hands. “Don’t we all?”

Sansa turned to look at him. “So that’s what Petyr meant when he said you have ‘too much heart.'”

Lothor laughed at that. “If it wasn’t for my heart, he would’ve been dead already.”

—

The plan was simple: Petyr and Lothor had arranged a half-destroyed building for Sansa to hide in and transmit her message to British forces, while they travel to the German base to meet General Lannister. Sansa was to relay the message to British Forces by ten thirty and Petyr and Lothor should leave the building by eleven to avoid being caught in the crossfire between the Germans and British. 

Sansa and Lothor had hidden earpieces to communicate in case complications arise but Sansa hoped they wouldn’t need them. She tried to keep her voice calm when the receiver at the other end picked up.

“Code?”  
“Barbossa has crossed the gates.” 

“Agent, what’s the problem?”

Sansa grasped the phone. “I need to speak to the commander of the British forces stationed at the Eastern front near Novgorod.” 

“What is the problem?”

“It’s urgent. I have discovered new information regarding the German forces. They are receiving a new shipment of armaments today and the German line will be guarded with a skeleton crew. I must alert the commanding officer.”

“Okay, I’ll patch you through to the 23rd to 26th battalions are stationed at Novgorod.”

 _23rd battalion?_ Sansa thought, the name sounding strikingly familiar. Oh, _oh_ , Jon’s in the 23rd battalion. Just one more thing to worry about. 

—

Sansa waited impatiently for the transmission to connect. She checked her watch—ten thirty five—then paced around the room. She heard static, and then a young male voice. 

“This is the 23rd battalion.”

“I need to speak to your highest commanding officer nearby,” Sansa said. “I am part of British Intelligence and have urgent news to deliver regarding an attack on German defenses at Novgorod.”

The voice receded into ambient chatter and then a deeper voice was at the call. “Colonel Mormont of the 23rd and 24th battalion.”

“You need to attack the Germans today by noon,” Sansa said without a beat. “They are receiving a new shipment of armaments which means their defenses are guarded by a skeleton crew now and can be easily breached.”

“I’m sorry but we haven’t been able to breach German lines at Novgorord since they took over.” Sansa could hear the years of weariness in his voice. 

“Please, you must trust me.” Sansa said. “I have been working undercover as a secretary for a weapons manufacturer for the German forces at Eastern Front. They are unloading shipment as we speak and sooner or later the German army will be armed and more powerful than before. You must attack now before the window closes.”

“And how can I trust you? What if the Germans have already armed themselves and are waiting for our men to charge with new machine guns?”

Sansa honestly didn’t know the answer to the question. Perhaps the troops do already have the equipment prepared and running. 

“War is about making sacrifices,” Sansa said, remembering Petyr’s words. “Or else nothing will be finished and we will be fighting this war for the rest of our lives.”

There was silence at the other end. Sansa held her breath. She thought the man had hung up for a brief moment until she heard the crackling proving the line was still connected. 

“I will take your word,” the commander finally said. “Let’s hope you are right.”

—

Lothor was positively sure something was going to go wrong. And when it does he would be sure to strangle Petyr himself when this all blows over. He checked his watch: Fifteen minutes before eleven. He heard the last few pleasantries that marked the meeting was over then pushed open the door. What Tywin Lannister said next changed the course of their plan. 

“Herr Baelish, would you please stay, I would like to make sure all the armaments are properly working. It would be inconvenient if you had to come back to pick up broken equipment.”

Petyr stopped in the middle of his tracks. “Of course, General.” He said smoothly. 

_Yes_ , Lothor thought to himself, _I am going to strangle this man if Tywin Lannister doesn’t kill him first._

—

Sansa found herself pacing around the room just twenty minutes after finishing the call with the colonel. It’s ten past eleven and there’s no response from Lothor. She turned on her earpiece, hoping the other end will be Lothor speaking and not some German officer or even worse, the General himself. 

“Lima Bravo?” Sansa asked tentatively. 

“Romeo,” came the curt reply. Sansa closed her eyes in relief.

“Why hasn’t he come out yet?” She asked. 

“The General wants Baelish to oversee all unloading of the equipment,” was Lothor’s thinly-veiled irked response.

Sansa drew a breath. “So our time will be tight.”

“Yes.”

And so the waiting game began.

—

Lothor was busy thinking of ways of kill Petyr once this was over when a soldier bursted from the doors at the end of the hall. “Sir, the enemy has breached our lines!”

Lothor quickly sprung into action and followed behind the soldier, hand on his gun. He entered the room just to see Tywin react to the news and turn to Petyr, furious. 

“You!” He seethed. 

Lothor lunged without thinking, grappling his arms around Tywin’s neck. He pulled the man roughly up, gun pressed to the general’s temple. 

“Don’t shoot!” He yelled. The guards faltered but remained with their guns trained on him and Petyr. 

“You imbeciles!” Tywin shouted from his place. Petyr had his arms raised on the other side of the room. 

Out of nowhere, a canister was suddenly thrown in the room. There was a moment of silence before someone yelled, “Flash-bang!”

Tywin knocked his head back sending Lothor in stupor while other soldiers ducked for cover. A blinding white light filled the room. Lothor shielded his eyes and forced himself to stand up, searching wildly for Petyr. A hand grasped his wrist. Lothor looked up to see none other than Sansa Stark. 

—

Sansa ran as fast as she can from the building she was hiding in when she heard commotion from the Front. When she arrived in the hall, the guards had already deserted their posts at the doors. She pulled the pin out of what she hoped was a flash bang and tossed it in the room before quickly hiding behind the doors. She heard shouts, rushed in, grabbed a stumbling Lothor, and ran for her life with Petyr following suit. They made it to the end of the hall. 

Then came the gunfire. 

—

Sansa swore her feet were bleeding from the hard leather cutting into her skin as she ran. A thought that once she escaped and everything might return to normal gave her some new found energy. She kicked off her heels and started running barefoot, ignoring the tiny rocks that bit into her skin. The walls around her shook. The British must be here already. She felt something warm on her leg only to look down and see a large gash on her lower left thigh, bleeding profusely from a bullet graze.

“Go! I’ll try to hold them back!” She heard Lothor yell. She turned back to see the tall man have stopped to stand his ground, gun up and firing at their shooters. The walls rocked again, this time sending pieces of the ceiling raining down. Sansa stumbled.

“That piece of shit,” said a voice behind her. Petyr grabbed her roughly to steady her and told her to run faster. They’re nearing the entrance of the building and they’re nearly out; Sansa might be imaging it but she could almost see the silhouette of Jon. Jon. Just a few meters more. Then the building collapsed. 

—

Sansa woke up with her body aching. Her head felt like a thousands needles pricked in it, her throat so parched she couldn’t breathe for a second. She slowly moved parts of her body, making sure nothing was broken and that the pain was just from soreness and bruises. The gash on her leg had already gathered dust, turning her skin gray.

“Lothor! Lothor!” Sansa craned her neck to see Petyr, a few meters above her on a mountain of rubble, pushing away the debris. He looked awful, his hair sticking in every direction possible, suit torn and gray, and his usual tucked in black tie now loose and out, hanging from his neck.

“Lothor!” Petyr's digging became more frantic and Sansa painfully pushed herself up to see what he had found.

A single limp hand reached from the rubble, then an arm, then half a shoulder. Petyr had to lean his whole body back to pull the other man from the ruins and by the end was on the ground himself, heaving from the exertion. Lothor mirrored his position, leaning on the pile of rubbles he was just pulled from. He probably looked the worst out of the three of them, his entire head covered in dust and the side of his head still bleeding sluggishly from a head wound. 

“What the hell where you thinking?” Petyr was the first to speak, his voice pitched and angry. “How could you be my bodyguard if you’re dead? What you did was highly irresponsible. I’m sorely disappointed in you. You nearly died-”

Without warning, Lothor pulled Petyr’s tie towards him and then kissed him hard on the mouth. They stayed like that for a solid three-seconds before Lothor let go, a playful smile on his lips. He put his finger on Petyr’s lips before he could begin another retort.

“Not going to let you ruin this moment,” Lother said and leaned back, eyes closed. “You said it yourself, I nearly died.”

Petyr’s jaw worked but nothing came out as he grew redder by the moment.

“God, you look awful.” 

Sansa froze. She turned around to see Jon, exactly like how she left him, eyebrows furrowed and curly hair swept back by gel. He held a hand out to her and she took it, a similar gesture to the wedding event with Petyr but different on so many levels. 

“Jon,”

Jon pulled her close, yes, so different from that night, and hugged her tight. 

“I missed you, you know,” he said. 

“I missed you too,” Sansa whispered.

“I heard you on the transmission with Colonel Mormont. When he mentioned a spy working for a German weapons manufacturer, I knew it was you, so I got to the most important looking building in this town as soon as I broke past the lines. Turns out my instincts were right; you’re here now, aren’t you.”

“Hmm, I could name a bunch of times your instincts didn’t really work out.”

“Hey, you’re never going to forgive me for dating Ygritte are you?”

“Mhmm.”

“How did you enjoy your time at Nazi Germany?”

Sansa buried her face into Jon’s embrace and took a deep sigh, missing the scent and the warmth. “It was really weird,” she admitted.

Overhead, she swore she heard Petyr and Lother back to bickering again. 

**Author's Note:**

> I got this idea from the WW2 Baelish/Sansa AU Nothing Important Happened Today by AlayneBaelish (you should go check it out), because it was the first story I read that introduced the character Lothor and also the GOT universe in a WW2 setting. 
> 
> Loved the character Lothor, did some research on him, and I decided to write my own Sansa + Petyr + Lothor trio story. I find the relationship between Baelish and Brune in the books very interesting; he’s the only other person who knows who Alayne Stone truly is. This show how much Baelish trusts him, and it’s odd because Baelish tends not to trust anyone. Thus came the idea of this ship haha.
> 
> Novgorod is an actual town which the Germans and Soviet Union were in a standstill for 2 years and 7 months until it was taken back at April 1944. The war ended shortly a year later at September, 1945.
> 
> In this story, Petyr is not affiliated with the Nazis, which means he has a chance to rise up in power after the war and won't be prosecuted as a war criminal. That's why he's okay with bringing down the Nazis. I wouldn't imagine a character like him would side with a cultish organization like the Nazis. He would probably stay on neutral ground if something happens.


End file.
